


The Name

by regularvoltaire



Category: Sports RPF, Tennis RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:35:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8254501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regularvoltaire/pseuds/regularvoltaire
Summary: Only 4 people called him by that name. It seems almost sacred. His parents don't even call him that anymore. Or rather, there are only 4 people in the world whom he allowed to call him by that name and one of them is quite... unexpected.





	

Only 4 people called him by that name. This name, there seems to be something sacred about it. Or rather yet, there are only four people in the world whom he allowed to call him by that name. At first he thought it was other people's way of keeping boundaries with him, letting him know they're there but not quite. Then after some time, he realised it was him who started building it himself.

Some new ones will come all smiles and energy and call him by the name, and he will smile back just as warm, being the person and the champion that he is, while reminding them that just "Rafa is fine." The smart ones, will know that their boundaries were set. The others, on the other hand,  will mistake it as an act of familiarity, an acceptance of friendship, even though they will eventually find out sooner or later, some all by themselves and some others have to be explained by their peers. 

His parents don't even call him Rafael anymore. They used to when he was 17 and everything was perfect, but after the separation and him travelling across the world almost everyday of the year, the name just kind of faded away. He loves his parents more than anything. His mom and dad still came to every match of his they can attend, his dad still hugs him after every loss and told him he's proud of his son and his mother still made him that paella he loves when he comes home. Yet the name just doesn't feel right anymore. It will always reminds them of what have been and what might have been and how their life have changed. The last time they called him by the name was late at night in front of Maribel and him to tell them about the separation. And even the young Nadal at that time knew, he was never going to hear that name from his parents' lips again. 

Maria Francisca never once called him by the name. Seems like a cliché considering she was his lover for more than 15 years. And he does love her very much, of this he has no doubt. She's the woman of his life, the one he dreamed to marry someday and have a family with. He knew it the first time he met her. Mary will always be his light, yet there are parts of him she will never understands. The darkness he felt when he holds that racket even underneath the blazing sun of Wimbledon, or the tears he shed when he doubted himself more than anything. She will always be in the stands but never on the court. He shared everything with her, but the little boy with his eyes on the ball? this was him before he became anything else. This  was his alone. And he knows she knows this so they never mentioned it and the name never once called.

Another thing he realised was that he never could have explained what exactly happened with the name or why it became so personal to him. Perhaps because before he was Rafael Nadal, the spanish conqueror of 14 grand slam singles titles and 9 French Open, before he was Rafa, the inspiration everybody read about in the sports column after the Wimbledon final 2008, he was just Rafael. A young measly kid from a small island of Mallorca who couldn't even hold his racket with his right hand properly so his uncle told him to play the other way around. He was Rafael, the boy who always failed his english exams and had posters of tennis heroes on the ceiling of his bedroom. He was Rafael, the one who always laughed at a good joke and liked to play football when it's sunset. He was Rafael, the one who always came home last because he had to pick up all the tennis balls off the court, the one who kept holding the racket even though his fingers were broken, and still feel relieved when he got through a day. The name, was for someone who knew this Rafael, the one who could see past his 15 years of trained professional career, the one who succeeded in stripping him bare, reminded him of the young boy and made him feel, like Rafael.

Ever since he was 3, his uncle never called him anything but Rafael. He shouted at him with that name, but the boy had seen his uncle's hidden tears as he uttered his name while he hugged him for the first time when he won a title. That's what nobody understands, it has to be Toni. Not because Toni is his uncle or is an incredibly good coach, but because each time he looked aside from the practice court he would always find his uncle and heard him call him by the name and at that moment he would just be Rafael, the boy trained to hit every ball that comes at him, no matter where it landed. When his uncle called him by the name during the match, what he remembered was his battles. How much he fought to be there at that moment, how many balls he picked up, how many forehands he hit and then everything just stopped. And he would be flying. 

Maribel never left. She was there. Always. She moved in with him after the separation and everytime he came home she made him smile. He never told her anything simply because she already knew everything. He doesn't know how she does it, seemingly reading all his thoughts and feelings without him uttering a word. He would call her everyday when he was away, just like how he called Mary and his mom, but with Maribel it was shorter, since they already knew each other's minds anyway, yet it was the most meaningful. When his little sister called his name it reminded him of home. Not in a way that made him homesick or anything, but just the feeling of home, and anywhere he is in the world, in that moment he would feel, simply happy.

It wasn't about how long they've known him at all. Maribel and Toni are family but he felt that someone doesn't have to share his blood to have that connection. It could be just because of one moment, one hour, one second even of that indescribable feeling that creates a connection between the two. When the spanish national anthem was played at Rio with the heavy medal hung proudly along his neck, he turned around to see his partner. The look they shared at that time was a replacement of a lifetime worth of acquaintance. And when after the ceremony Marc Lopez called him by that name, not one person complained nor asked.

The only person whom he allowed to call him by the name in public was Roger Federer.

And when he does, though it's rare, it was an unwritten rule that everybody should keep to themselves and mind their own businesses. Even the Serbian himself would walk his way out of the locker room if it is necessary.

He often pondered what's so special between him and the man? Nobody knew and the spaniard wasn't sure either. The only thing he's sure of is that he has played a thousand different players throughout his career in a span of millions of matches but none of them gave him the feeling quite like when he played Roger Federer. The moment he held that racket and he saw The Swiss on the opposite side of the net, then he was stripped bare. He was Rafael. They had seen and understood the whole of each other without any words exchanged between them. Tennis is a strange game. It could make you vulnerable and stronger at the same time. His rivals on court, they were the one who could see through him like glass, his temper, his mind, his character, and yet they're the ones who drive him to be better, stronger, faster. And his and Federer's 12 years on court formed an inexplicable bond that could not be explained or acquired even when you've known someone for a lifetime. Federer is never an open man, yet the spaniard knew when he spoke to him he spoke the truth and the truth only. There was absolutely no chance that they could be lying to each other, they know each others' character too well. He sometimes think to himself, funny how he can still manage to lie to his parents, but to the swiss? Not a chance.

His family, his closest friends, were all there throughout the highs and lows of his life but none of them knew exactly how he felt, the exact feeling of the victory, the exact pain of the loss, the exact taste of the tears except this one man. The man he's been fighting for 12 years, the one he kept chasing. The one who shared the podiums and the dirt on the shirts alongside him. And when he played him, he played his best because he played as Rafael, the young Mallorcan kid aspiring for the world number one, the one who achieved great wonders nobody thought he could.

And he knew, someday when it's his time to hang the racket, he will close his eyes and ask himself who he truly is, and all he will see is the green of Wimbledon centre court on a beautiful sunday morning and the whites of The Swiss Maestro's. And everything was silent.

 

Maybe, that was all the answer he ever needed.

 

 

Just maybe.


End file.
